The Desert Prince
by jamnaz79
Summary: The Dark Lord was reborn and destroyed in the same day. The graveyard though marked the end of the life of Harry Potter. Now the boy-who-lived finds himself in Westeros. Reborn into the body of a Prince of Dorne with his magic. What will the child of prophecy do in this new world? Will he finally find peace and happiness? Or will demons always surround the boy. Pairing not decided
1. A bad Graveyard Experience

The Desert Prince

Chapter 1 – A choice

By Jamnaz79

Beta: ? (TBD)

**Author Note: I had this idea rolling around in my head for weeks now. I just needed to put it down to paper ( or msword). Please let me know if you like the concept of not.**

**Note: I do not own Harry Potter, Game of Thrones (Sword of Fire and Ice) or anything associated with it. I can say that I would never be able to write a masterpiece like Mr. Martin does and I hope you forgive my horrible try. Then again I hope I don't do a chapter every 5 years like Mr. Martin too. But, the books are always worth the wait!**

Sparks flew between the brother wands as the bitter enemies spells shattered against one another. Voldemort's killing curse met the disarming spell of Harry Potter causing a giant dome of magic to form encircling the both of them. The magnitude of the magical power being compressed between the two of them was astounding. The sight of the Priori Icantatem scared even the most bitter of Death Eaters.

Yet, it was not the Death Eaters that held the eyes of young Harry Potter. It was not even the Dark Lord that could keep his attention. It was the spirits that seemed to arise from the wand of his dark nemesis. The ghostly images of his mother and father started to flicker into his view along with Cedric and others killed by the Dark Lord. It felt as if time itself had decided to stand still. His eyes drew onto his mother's burning emerald eyes as he whispered, "Mother…"

"Harry, we do not have long. You need to flee Harry! You need to get the portkey and go!" The voice of his mother, something only heard from the bitter assaults on his mind from dementors struck to the heart of his being. He shivered with a feeling of loss knowing this was perhaps the only chance he would ever have to see her.

"I don't want to leave you mother!" He cried out as his heart felt ready to burst whether from the magic or ache from knowing he had nothing to return to. His best friends had abandoned him for most of the year, his only family wished him pain and torment, his teachers ignored his pleas and concerns and every year he seemed to almost die. In his heart, Harry truly felt he had nothing to live for except destroying this monster that killed his parents.

"Harry, you must get to safety son!" He could hear his father's voice for the first time in his life. Instead of longing it brought him anger, an anger that seemed to boil over with rage that the man before him is who took that voice from him.

The boy whispered softly, "No…."

Then it slowly started to become a chant to himself, "No, Never, I will never let this monster free again. I will not let him live! I will destroy him!"

The boy continued speaking, each word causing his eyes to glow more fiercely, his body seeming to break all control over his magic. The force of his will override his power, causing his magical core to react by giving every ounce of strength in his body. He was literately burning himself out of magic and used his very life to empower the spell now.

The newly resurrected Dark Lord knew now that he had made a mistake in toying with the child. He could see him talking to himself then starting to chant out loud defiance openly to him. If he had been rested this battle of strength and would have been easily over but instead he was newly returned to life. No rituals painstakingly done to grant him power, no rested strength absorbed from his followers through the dark mark. No, it was simply the weakened magical power of Tom Riddle Jr. in his body right now. He watched the bead of glowing magic that was between the bursting torrent of magic from his and Harry's wand shoot towards him. For a brief moment he tried to move, tried to dodge but he couldn't move. It felt almost as if ghostly hands had grappled him in place! It was at that moment that he knew that would not survive this encounter with the boy-who-lived.

The backlash of magic empowered by a way of Harry giving up his own life willingly slammed the killing curse back into the wand of Lord Voldemort. The wand burst into a flaming ball of magic hotter than the most powerful fiendfyre every imagined. It consumed the body and spirit of Lord Voldemort. It destroy all remains with the holy fire of the damned before shooting upwards towards the heavens. The dome of the Priori Icantatem letting out a wave of magic from the destruction of the Dark Lord that threw back the gathered Death Eaters. Many of those Death Eaters fell to the ground never to rise again from the torment, magic lost and shock of what just took place. The wave of magic was so powerful that it would be recorded and felt even as far as the Ministry of Magic back in London and Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

In the middle of the circle wasteland stood the boy-who –lived. His body stood there shaking as his wand fell from his grasp, his very being felt on fire as he slowly fell down to his knees. His mouth opened and he whispered softly, "I am going home mother…"

Then the child of prophecy fell forward to collapse onto the shattered graveyard to never open his eyes again. The light had been a victor in this battle; unfortunately the war would be far from over.

Harry Potter awoke to find himself in a train station that he was familiar with. It appeared to the fourteen year old boy that he was in the King's Cross platform of 9 ¾ awaiting the Hogwarts Express. The world around him was a pasty white fog surrounding the chamber. He found himself to be seated on a stone bench and before him was another shattered form of Tom Riddle.

The homunculus appeared exactly like the one during the dark ritual that was just done to him. It was not a pleasant sight to see considering that very same creature had just been used in a ritual that led to his death. At least this one appeared to be dead as well, not moving or seeming to even breathe. Then again the question came to Harry, did he need to breath?

Harry looked away from the vile creature before glancing back at his surroundings with a sigh, "I figured that Heaven would be more friendly and fun."

A voice answered his question from the light, "It could be son, but you are not in Heaven."

The boy knew that voice, it was the same he had just heard in the graveyard. The same voice that he had felt in his mind each time a dementor came near. He whispered softly turning towards the direction of the voice, "mother?"

Seeming appearing out of nowhere was his mother seated on the stone bench next to the boy. She had wild auburn hair and pale skin with a scattering of freckles. The eyes of emerald green seemed to burn with fire even in the afterlife, matching his own emerald gaze. But, it was the smile that drew him in and melted his heart. He reached out and felt his arms able to wrap around her giving a squeeze as he felt one in return. "Mother…"

The kindly woman squeezed her son against her bosom before leaning back to smile sadly at her child, "You are far too young to be here son. We wanted you to get free, to find a way to live. It is too soon for you to join us here dear."

Harry closed his eyes as he felt his mother's hand stroking through his hair. Warmth seemed to fill his body almost as a sense of peace. Still, a part of him felt conflicted as he whispered, "Is he gone?"

A pair of warm lips pressed to his forehead before he heard a whisper, "No dear one, you delayed his return but he still has a way to return. He will return still and there will still be a war. But, someday he will be destroyed. But, it matters not. Your time there is done."

A bit of shock filled the boy, a sense of finality burned in his soul. He was truly dead. He never had done so many things. He never swam in the ocean, he never drove a car, never took a plane, never saw anywhere in the world except a few small places, hell he never kissed a girl! He never had a chance to live, but now thanks to this crazy man he would never get that chance. His life was done, over final. He would never feel Hermione's crushing hugs, or McGonagall's lectures, eat Ms. Weasley's cooking or spend time getting to know his godfather. He slowly opened his eyes and looked into the eyes of his mother with shock.

"I know dear one. I know what you are thinking, I can feel it my sweet Harry." Her words of comfort caused his heart to ache even as he felt her hand gently brush against his cheek over his tears. She whispered slowly, "Just because you can never return to Britain doesn't mean you can never return to life son."

Harry blinked in surprise at her words as he bit his bottom lip not trusting his voice. For a few minutes he just enjoyed the feel his mother holding him close. Finally his eyes lingered onto the destroyed soul of Voldemort, "Mother, that thing…"

"It was part of Tom Riddle's soul Harry. When he marked you it was placed into you. It had been festering, feeding off of your magic to survive all of this time. It was a parasite, a dark stain against your soul that wanted to take control. When you were hit by the explosion it was destroyed. Normally you could return but…" She paused a second as considered her words. Her son could feel the nails of Lily Potter rubbing his back in a slow circle. "But, when they awoke the followers of the Dark Lord were so furious they ripped apart your body. Dumbledore showed up with Fawkes but it was too late. Your sacrifice will become the rally cry for the magical world, Remember Harry Potter. But, now you can never return to there."

Harry felt an intense anger as he glared at the creature. It had used him like a mosquito sucking blood but instead it was his magic! It wasn't enough that he had died but they had desecrated his body. He whispered softly, "Did he know that this thing was in me?"

The hand rubbing the back of Harry stopped for a second as his mother whispered, "Yes, he knew. There was a prophecy that would have foretold that your life and his could only be ended by each other. Plus, you were scanned magically when he first found you at the wreckage of our house. There he found what was in you but never knew how to remove it."

Gentle fingertips turned the eyes of Harry away from the destroyed soul to meet the eyes of his mother. Her voice was soft yet filled with strength as she spoke, "None of that matters anymore. What matters now is your choice."

"What choice mother?" He looked confused towards his mother.

The fingertips reached upwards to brush away a few stray tears of anger that had lingered to her son's cheek. "You must choose Harry if you want to pass into the beyond and seek nothingness or you wish to take a rebirth. Your soul is special. So very special Harry that you are being given a choice to live my son. You are being given a chance to live again, to experience life and make a difference in a different world."

"A different world? Why would I want to go there? Why would I want to live again? I can go beyond and be with you and Dad." He spoke quickly to his mother almost in a panic, his heart seeming to fulfill his eyes.

She leaned forward and gave a small kiss to his forehead then whispered, "I know son. And after you go to this place and live a long life you will be able to come find us and we can spend eternity together. But, there is so much still for you to do, so much to live in life, you never had a chance to feel or live life truly before. Now this will be your chance Harry."

Harry slowly leaned back and looked into her eyes whispering, "You would be here for me afterwards?"

"Yes, I would be. I will always be here for you Harry. Your father and godfather will be too then after a long life. You will see us again my son. But, this will give you a chance to have a life." She whispered gently to her son. Pausing a moment to let the words sink in before she continued, "You would forget your pain and suffering. You would forget what you have lost in this world. Instead you will live a new life, a life to make a change my son. You will find love and have a family. Perhaps give me some grandchildren."

A teasing smile touched the lips of his mother as she looked at him then she spoke softly, "You will have your magic still as well dear one. Your unbound magic will be there for you. But, you must decide now Harry. Our time here draws to an end."

He looked up and met the emerald eyes of his mother with a sad smile. He could see the hope in those eyes that he would take this chance and become a good man. They were almost calling for him to accept this chance to become something more than a pawn of prophecy. He wet his lips then whispered, "I will do it. I will go to this place."

She reached out and took his hands into her own and smiled brightly, "Good my son. All you must do is say this. I accept your gift R'hollor, Lord of the Light, Heart of Fire. I am ready to set fire to the world as the Desert Prince."

Harry felt the squeeze of her hand and the warmth in her eyes. He smiled brightly to her knowing this was what she wanted for him desperately. "I love you mother. I accept your gift R'hollor, Lord of the Light, Heart of Fire! I am ready to set fire to the world as the Desert Prince!"

The boy felt a burning sensation start to ache in his chest. At first it felt warm, than slowly it changed till it filled him with an inferno. He threw back his head in a scream of pain and torment far worse than the time when basilisk poison had been in his veins. He heard through is screams the words of his mother, "I love you Harry. Remember, I will always be proud of you."

The boy's screams filled King's Cross as his body was now literately caught up in flames. They enshrouded his full form as he felt them burn over every inch of him. Then in a blink of an eye he disappeared, only leaving ashes behind.

The woman stood up calmly from the bench and looked around the chamber. A small smirk twisted over her lips as she walked over to the homunculus form of Voldemort. Raising her foot upwards it slowly transformed into a sturdy leather boot before it crashed down and splattered the head of the Dark Lord's soul. The rest of the body of the woman distorted till it became a man well over six foot in height. He had burning fiery red hair that flickered with flames and eyes of emeralds that seemed to shine bright as the son. His voice was deep as it echoed from his lungs, "Your wish has been granted Harry Potter. A new life for your service oh Promised Prince."

296 AC Dorne - Yronwood

Quentyn Martell, son of Prince Doran Martell and Ward of House Yronwood knew he was in trouble. The night had not gone very well for him so far. First, he had snuck out of Lord Andres' Keep to go explore some with his friend Cletus Yronwood. They wanted to do what any normal four and ten year old boy wanted to do, to get into trouble. Of course, they never pictured this much trouble like they were in now.

Yronwood is a large town of ten thousand. It is a trading hub where the Boneway and Prince's pass roads meet before they travel onwards to Sunspear. If there is trade by land, it would always travel through Yronwood due partially to the fierce desert lands near to here. Lord Andres Yronwood tried to keep the walled town clean as possible but like any location with a lot of trade there was still trouble that would come to town. There was a nice side of town where the Keep was and higher end shops where nobility would visit when traveling through. There was also the seedier side of town where anything could be found if you really wanted to look for it. While it was no flea bottom like in King's landing the rougher alleyways would rarely find a guard at night. It was said if you wanted to find something in Dorne; it was always available for a price in Yronwood.

It was into the darker side of town this night Cletus and Quentyn would go. The plan was simple for the best friends, first they would find a bar and some good wine. Next they would find a good woman to prove they were truly men. In between if they found a fight it might be a perfect evening.

After all war was coming, it was all over the Seven Kingdoms! Even if Quentyn's father Prince Doran wanted to stay out of it, there was no possible way they would. This would be the time that they could get revenge on House Lannister for the murder and rape of his Aunt Elia. Even his father could not forget that chance for justice for House Martel! Quentyn knew that many considered his father weak, because he would never act unless he was forced to. Yet, he knew better. His father has taught him when very young to only act if he was certain of the consequences.

Unfortunately this night he had not considered his father's words of wisdom. Instead they had made it to the darker side of town and found a tavern called the Lady's leg. It was considered according to Cletus one of the darker placed in town but it was a perfect place for some boys to get into an adventure. So they had ended up there hoping to find a lady of the night wanting some coins. Instead they found a booth in the corner and watched sell swords, men and others about the room arguing over gambling and drink. It was a wonderful sight for the boy's and Quentyn was enjoying himself, especially after the second cup of cheap wine. After the third cup he found the room filled with funny conversations and the fourth cup gave him courage for to try his luck at speaking to a few of the women. It was the fifth cup when things went downhill because they decided to join a game of chance. The dice didn't like them and they were on a losing streak, but the seventh cup removed that worry from them. It was the eight cup that started the argument, because it spilled all over this darkly cloaked man when Quentyn backed up his chair too quickly.

The incident quickly escalated and the boys found themselves in an alleyway surrounded by free riders. The dark cloaked man one of their number which was five at the moment. He stood before Quentyn and looked down towering over the boy, "Apologize runt and give your coin and you will live to see another day."

"Apologies are for peasants, I am unbroken and unbent. I do not apologize to scum." The boy yelled with slurred words. His right gloved hand on the dagger at his belt as he tried his best to glare at the man.

"Listen here boy, I am giving you a chance to walk away. If I fight, I fight to kill." The words rumbled from the sell sword with a growl.

Quentyn felt the hand of Cletus on his back trying to pull him away. He stumbled but kept upright, "Come on Quentyn, I think we should go."

But, the child was stubborn as he shook off the hand of his friend. He pulled his dagger from his belt with a glare at the man, "Come at me sell sword. Let us see if you steel can match mine."

The fight was not much, in truth it was only twenty seconds. Quentyn thrust awkwardly forward the dagger with a feint at the man's chest. The man actually fell for the feint and was slashed on his thigh.

The sell sword leapt back cursing in pain with a glare at the boy. Perhaps it had been compassion before or a moment of weakness before, now that was gone. Instead of the dagger at his belt the man pulled one from his sleeve. He moved with the rigid determination of a skilled warrior and slashed it quickly over the chest of the boy from the left shoulder down in a jagged line to the boy's right hip.

Quentyn stumbled back screaming in pain at the fire that seemed to explode over his body as warmth seeped from his flesh. Crimson blood spilled down his body as he felt a fire at once take to his veins. His own dagger fell to the ground with a soft clatter onto the stones.

The free rider slid away the dagger then spoke with mocking anger in his tone, "Your friend has minutes left the live, the red viper venom will take him."

The man spit onto the ground as he and his companions left pushed from the alleyway with contempt.

Cletus rushed to his best friend with concern filling his eyes. The wound was already puffing up, smoke actually came from as his friend rolled back and forth in agony. The cut was not deep itself but it seemed to be excruciatingly painful. The thought hit Cletus, the man was telling the truth. He had put Red Viper Venom onto his dagger. His eyes going wide at once he picked up his best friend, his prince to toss him over his shoulder then started to run through town towards his Father's Keep.

Perhaps it was the small amount of venom in the cut, or perhaps it was the wish of the seven but the boy stumbled a few blocks before he ran into one of his father's guard patrol.

The patrols were sent out around the town in pairs. Two officers would work together to keep the peace, assisting those in need as guides or security for the town. Cletus, being the Lord's son knew almost all of the guard on duty from years of being around them. Hell, he spent a lot of his childhood sneaking to their barracks to hear stories from members of it. This night was no different as he knew one of the two guardsmen, Yalcin of Lys.

Yalcin had a peaceful night walking beside Mors. There has been no major issues or outbreaks. The bars had been rather busy but people seemed weary of bar fights lately. It might have something to do with war. Everyone wants the news of the northlands, the battles of the five kings, but nobody wants to fight themselves knowing what might come. This peace was shattered as he saw his Lord's son carrying a bloody prince on his shoulders! At once he sprinted over to help Cletus Yronwood with his burden. "What happened?"

The boy shook his head slowly and gasped out as he felt Yalcin help take hold of his friend. "We got into an argument. He picked a fight with a sell sword. A knife fight for honor, but the sell sword used a blade touched in poison. We need to get him to the keep, we need to get him somewhere that can help him!"

The guardsman that he had never seen before stepped forward raising a hand against the forehead of Quentyn with a frown, "He is burning up. It is a strong poison. No time for the keep, he needs help. There is one near here."

A frown crossed the lips of guardsman Yalcin at the idea. But, he shook his head guiding the way since he didn't have a better idea. They went down deserted alleyway to a run-down stone building. The door was made of oak, carved with a heart on fire in the middle. Soon as they arrived Yalcin banged loudly on the door. It swung open without a word to show a darkened chamber.

Taking a deep breath the guardsman pulled the prince into the room slowly. As soon as Yalcin of Lys set foot through the doorway into the room, the torches all around the chamber lit up. An ancient woman that looked to have been around when the weirwood trees were young walked from a back chamber. She had all white hair that was falling out in patches, skin that looked more wrinkles then flat. Liver spots dotted the woman's arms and legs even as she had shrunken to only be around four foot in height. Her eyes were milky white of a blindness still he turned her gaze towards them as if she could see them as they entered. Her mouth opened showing no teeth left but her tongue stuck into the air as if tasting some morsel from her dinner. She cackled and spoke up, "Put the prince on the stone altar. His time in this world is short."

The strange old hag pointed with her free hand and when the men turned to look they found an altar where before they would have sworn none stood. Once the body of the Prince was up there she shooed them away, "Go, get your Lord. Go out for you must not be here for this."

Cletus look frightened towards Yalcin and the other guardsmen a frown crossing his lips. "I need to stay to make certain my friend is safe."

"Safe he will be, but you will not if you stay. Stay and he will die. Go young Lord and come back with your father." She cackled, ending her words with spit falling from broken crackled lips. "Go now or else he will not live little lord."

The boy lord growled through his lips, "Very well but if he dies then…"

"Then you kill me. I live not on the morrow." She cackled then turned to hold a strange medallion over the body of the Prince seeming to talk in a cadence of High Valyrian ignoring the presence of the others.

Soon as Cletus and others stepped foot outside of the room the door slammed shut and he could hear a bar fall down over the other side locking it closed. For five minutes the guardsmen and boy lord slammed their shoulders into the door but to no avail. Despite the wood looking ancient and rotten nothing seemed to budge it. After a time they ran off to get Lord Yronwood to bring aid.

It was just after the first rays of the next morning came over the alleyway at the doorway opened. Lord Yronwood, Cletus, their master and numerous knights stood outside at ready. The doorway alerted them to being unfastened by a creek of an old hinge slowly opening.

Knights poured into the room surrounding their Lord and Cletus with blades drawn. But, all they found was their young prince laying on a stone altar. Lord Yronwood and Cletus rushed to the side of the boy prince and were startled at the sight. While his facial features were the same with a strong nose, high cheekbones and jet black hair. The different on his face was the jagged lightning bolt scar on the right side of his forehead over his eyebrow. His body had also changed where before he was always a stocky, short child he was not tall and wiry for his age. He still had muscle mass but now it was firmer and more trim. The boy had grown a full foot, which was impossible to happen overnight!

Slowly the eyelids of the Prince fluttered as he looked up with a groan. Again the Lord and his son were surprised, for the eyes of Quentyn Martell were always deep dark brown almost black. Now those eyes were a burning fiery emerald green that truly captured the eye. The young man of ten and four now had bodily changed in a single night. He let out a groan of a pain and touched his tongue to parched lips before whispering, "Where am I?"

**Author note: I hope you like the idea. Harry Potter with his magic in the Game of Thrones world which should make an interesting story. This story would be updated here and there in-between Shadow of the Wizarding World. That is if you all like it. Please let me know if like the idea of the story. I am not certain of the pairing yet but feel free to offer young choices. I was thinking of having him take the trip to King's landing with Oberyn for the Wedding. Anyways, I just had this idea and needed to put it down. If folks don't like it I will bury it. Just let me know!**


	2. A boy remade

The Desert Prince

Chapter 2 – Quentyn Martell is Harry Potter?

By Jamnaz79

Beta: (TBD)

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Game of Thrones (Song of Fire and Ice) or anything associated with it. I can say that I would never be able to write a masterpiece like Mr. Martin does and I hope you forgive my horrible try. Then again I hope I don't do a chapter every 5 years like Mr. Martin too. But, the books are always worth the wait!**

_Knights poured into the room surrounding their Lord and Cletus with blades drawn. But, all they found was their young prince lying on a stone altar. Lord Yronwood and Cletus rushed to the side of the boy prince and were startled at the sight. While his facial features were the same with a strong nose, high cheekbones and jet black hair. The different on his face was the jagged lightning bolt scar on the right side of his forehead over his eyebrow. His body had also changed where before he was always a stocky, short child he was not tall and wiry for his age. He still had muscle mass but now it was firmer and more trim. The boy had grown a full foot, which was impossible to happen overnight! _

_Slowly the eyelids of the Prince fluttered as he looked up with a groan. Again the Lord and his son were surprised, for the eyes of Quentyn Martell were always deep dark brown almost black. Now those eyes were a burning fiery emerald green that truly captured the eye. The young man of ten and four now had bodily changed in a single night. He let out a groan of a pain and touched his tongue to parched lips before whispering, "Where am I?"_

After the question the young prince passed back out into sleep. He was quickly ordered moved to the keep by Lord Yronwood. The boy would spend the next few weeks in and out of a sleep. It seemed he would never be fully coherent and often when he woke up he would seem to forget everything including who he was. Sometimes he would call out for strange people that nobody in the castle knew about. He would thrash and turnabout, sweating horribly in pain.

At the same time as these nightmares would take place strange events would happen about the Keep. The events at first seemed to be minor things, food would seem to spoil quickly, one day a guard fell from the wall of the keep and bounced, another day an old well that was dry mysteriously started to sprout water, a pair of rose bushes that had been dead for months turned to full bloom.

There were dark events that seemed to happen and were connected to the boy when the dreams seemed particularly bad. In one instance while his daughter, Gwyneth, the boy let out a scream of terror and all of the glass in the room shattered at once. It was a shame as his daughter would now not go near the boy. He had hoped to make a match of the two in the future.

Lord Andres Yronwood was a good man, a strong willed man and solid leader. His family had served as Wardens of the Stoneway since Nymeria's war had placed House Martell as the Princes of Dorne. Still, they were a proud house tracing their nobility back centuries where they were once kings of Dorne before the Rhoynar came. Hence the House Leader's actual title was Bloodroyal. While Bloodroyal Andres was prideful that his family was powerful and respect in their lands he knew this situation was becoming out of his hands.

He sat there at his desk in the keep rubbing his temple as Maester Jordan gave his report. It seemed the report was always the same and could be spoken word for word by the Lord now.

"My Lord, I am sorry but the boy still does not awakened from the his dreams. I have tried every herb or mixture that I know to try to elicit a change in him. But, Prince Quentyn seems stubborn. I can only guess the slumber is due to unnatural causes." The man's lips twisted in distaste as he spoke his report to Lord Yronwood.

"Unnatural causes by that supposed old lady that disappeared?" The lord prompted of his Maester. A smirk crosses the lips of the man as he stares at Jordan with contempt, "Is that what I should inform his Highness Prince Doran? I am sorry your son will not awaken from a flesh wound healed by a hedge witch?"

"My Lord, I am sure his Highness would understand this situation is unique. If you would let me send to Oldtown, then I could ask for support of Archmaester Marwyn. I am certain that he would know of the cause and fix for this predicament. "He stops talking as he is waved off by Lord Yronwood.

"No, I will not let word spread of the Princes condition. It would bring disgrace on this Household to know that under my care his Highness has come to this condition. God forbid if Doran Martell or Oberyn find out about this situation. It would be the end of my House!" The final words are accented by Anders slamming a fish down onto his desk hard enough to almost cause a crack in the sturdy wood.

A slight shiver runs up Maester Jordan before he speaks, "I am certain that Prince Doran would want the best help for his son my Lord. This is a unique situation, he is the first boy to ever live through being infected with this type of poison."

A glare again quieted the man before his Lordship spoke up, "Indeed, he would want the best care but he is not the kind simpering man that most think of him Maester Jordan. Behind that kind exterior is a plotter that is smart, cunning and prepared to strike only when most fitting. I have seen him give a kind smile and word at one moment to a man that he hated, only to execute a plan against the same man and his family so prepared that it destroyed every part of the man's life. I would not have that anger turned on House Yronwood."

The Lord leaned back into his chair and ran his fingertips through his slowly graying brown hair. "Do what you must for the boy; if he does not improve by the end of the week then I will alert his Highness of the situation."

A week had finished and the Maester still saw no change. In truth he was further distressed at the boy's body seemed very different. All marks and scars he once had were gone from him except for two. It seemed now he sported a lightning bolt scar over the right side of his forehead just above his eyebrow and second a large bite mark from some creature larger than a desert lion on the boy's right arm. Maester Jordan had never seen the like of the scar before it, it looked as if whatever had made it had to be monstrously huge! Still the man had tried everything he could before he finally reported to his Lord that it seemed nothing would change.

The boy was destined to awaken when he would be ready. The rooms near to Quentyn had been kept under guard to keep all visitors but the Maester and his Lordship away. It had not set well with Cletus but the boy was made to understand that till his friend returned from whatever hell he was in that he needed keep away for his own safety and Quentyn's.

Lord Yronwood finally consented to send off a raven to Sunspear. Over a week had now past since the boy was first found in the ruined stone hobble. It was too much time for the boy not to have awakened on his own, it was too likely that Prince Quentyn may not be long for the world. He had to inform Prince Martell of the situation with his son. If not the silent sisters may be the ones to inform his Prince and that would not end well for House Yronwood.

When the raven was sent out there was no raven in reply sent back from Sunspear. No notice that they had received word of the situation. Normally when some news of urgency would be sent then a confirmation would be returned. It was always possible that the raven had been shot down or intercepted in some way.

It was two days after the raven had left that Maester Jordan was in his chambers preparing a second letter for his Lordship. This one was to be carried by rider to Sunspear and handed to his Highness to assure that news was given to the boy's father. But, the letter turned out to be unnecessary. A guard knocked once before opening the door to the chambers of the Maester, "Maester Jordan, His Lordship needs to meet you in the courtyard. We have a guest…"

Quentyn Martell or Harry Potter depending on the mind at the moment was having a rough time since his fight. The magic of the old crone had indeed been a "gift" by the Lord of the Light. But, it was a magic at great cost, for without that intervention the Prince would surely had died from the terrible venom. On the other hand the price for the life of the prince was that he was no longer the boy of the past.

While the body outside underwent changes from a growth spurt and eye color change during the ritual the true changes were those that took place within the body. The mind and soul of the boy-who-lived were cast into the body of Quentyn Martell. There they were being bombarded by the mind of Quentyn Martell.

While some wizards had studied the concept of the soul in relation to the magical core of the individual they had never truly understood the depth of bond between the two. A wizard's magical core was the wizard's strength of soul. Hence when a Dementor would feast upon a wizard it was literately sucking all of the magical power out of the individual along with the soul. It was not the soul that gave the monsters sustenance it was the magical core of the wizard that would empower the demon for centuries to come. The same concept was used by Voldemort when the Dark mark, willingly taken, would bind a portion of the soul of the wizard to as a servant to the Dark Lord. He would literately feed as a parasite off of the strength of the wizard to become his own life force, or soul.

Harry had been bound in the past by restraints place for his "protection" by Dumbledore and further restrained by Voldemort's parasite portion of soul living off of his own core. Those restraints were now gone from the youth. So while his soul and mind were adapting to a new body so too was his magical core settling into the body of Quentyn Martell. A magical core that was now unrestrained and powerful, if poorly trained.

The mind and soul of Harry Potter had been placed into the body of Quentin Martell. It was currently undergoing changes from the very core of his being to be part of this union and part of this new world. Memories of his former life were slowly being stripped from him. He was losing feelings of the past. Where once he could have clearly understood the hatred and anger he felt at Snape or Pettigrew now those feelings were being stripped away with only vague recollection of those individuals. He was stripped of the memories of different technologies from his old world including cars, TV, air planes and other major advancements since the middle ages. He remembered the situations had been in as a child, the pain and torment from the Dursley family had done to him with their beatings. He remembered the sense of loss he felt from being not accepted by any friends or family. He remembered the loneliness that he endured when he was locked away into the cupboard or when the school turned against him for being the Heir of Slytherin. The lesson was remembered not to trust an old man even if they seemed a kindly grandfather for they would not always have your best interest at heart. But, he also remembered the strength he had gained from his experiences. He could feel the strength that allowed him to fight against a basilisk, the battle against Professor Quirrell, daring to defy a dragon or outsmarting a sphinx in the Tri-Wizard Cup. Harry knew that no matter what if he was determined he could surpass expectations and make his desires happen.

Most of all Harry remembered his magic. He remembered the feeling of euphoria of power when a spell was cast filling his body with energy and power. The presence of the flow of his magic within his body burning like a chasm of fire running through his veins eager for release. He remembered how it felt to call forth a broom from a Castle three miles away like a rocket just to outfly a dragon! Or when he cast a spell to disarm or stun an opponent bringing them to their knees. The boy remembered the spells incantations and movements of wands needed to call forth the powers. The desire to gain more of that power filled him with a yearning that every young wizard, except Ron Weasley, felt.

Harry lost many things in becoming one with the mind of Quentyn. He lost the true memories of relationships with friends and relationships at Hogwarts. While the mind had to access all of the new information from Quentyn many memories were superseded as if taking place here in Dorne instead of Britain. But, Harry did gain knowledge for the price.

The boy's minds entwined in screams of pain and nightmares all the while Harry learned of Quentyn's life. He knew the boy's father was named Prince Doran Martell. He had memories of being raised by the man. Doran was a pensive man, a cautious man who had taught Quentyn to never wear his emotions on his sleeve. He was taught to always be careful and keep what he felt different then what he showed. Still, in private the Prince had been a loving but stern father that wanted nothing more than to see his children happy. There was sadness in his father, be it from a estranged marriage or loss of his dear sister it was not known. But, he knew his father suffered emotionally sure as he did physically from gout.

Harry knew his mother was Lady Mellario of Norvos. His mother had been a woman of passion, lust for life and believed in loving fiercely. While she had not been a political marriage to his father but a marriage of emotion, she was gone now to across the sea. It had been because of him that their marriage had ended. She had refused to see him sheltered with Lord Yronwood. But, it was still done against her objection for purely political reasons. His father had made the decision after the Red Viper, his uncle Oberyn, had slain a member of House Yronwood. Quentyn was the price for peace in Dorne after the dual too place. A high price by his father but ever the pragmatic individual he gave up his wife for the good of the princedom.

There were memories of his sister and younger brother growing up. She had never been close or caring towards him, almost viewing him as a threat. Yet, his younger brother was a blessing that he had cared for deeply. While Arianne and him fought over silly things that children do, his younger brother Trystane wanted nothing more than to bring peace between his older siblings. The boy was the glue that kept them from each other's throats much like Harry had been for Ron and Hermione.

Memories bombarded the boy's mind from Quentyn's past of his learning from Maester Jordan. Of maps, rules of nobility, culture and politics there were plenty of memories. There were favored memories of training with the spear starting from learning from the hand of his Uncle Oberyn who had always taken a shine to him. It was part of the reason that so badly House Yronwood had wanted to shelter him because it was payback to his Uncle who had wanted him as a squire. It was these memories and many more that spent over a week creeping into the mind of the boy while his magical core settled.

Oldtown, Citadel

On the south-west of the Reach was the city of Oldtown. It was the oldest city in the Seven Kingdoms and one of the largest. It had been built during the time of the First Men before the Andals and before the Targaryen. The city was at the mouth of the Honeywine River where it spills out into the Sunset Sea. Commonly those that travel to the city kept to the trade routes that spill from King's Landing through Highgarden to finally Oldtown. The most renowned buildings in Oldtown is the Citadel, home of the Maesters and the Hightower, a massive lighthouse.

It was in one of the tallest towers of the massive complex of the Citadel that an old man sat at his desk before the Hightower which had a flame burn into the night sky. He was always a short and squat fellow with thick chest and a hard won ale- belly. His hair had long ago turned from salt and pepper to white and he had forgotten the last time that he had cut back his hair or beard. He was like many of the old studies ilk that filled the roles of the Maesters for the Citadel. But, he was different in one unique way. He was the only one in the citadel with a ring, rod and mask of Valyrian steel.

The old man was Archmaester Marwyn the Mastiff, Marwyn the Mage. Marwyn was the only Archmaester in the Citadel that was considered to understand the ways of Magic. Rumors abound were spoken of the man whom had traveled to distant lands of the Summer Islands and traveled all of the lands of the narrow sea in search of knowledge. When he was younger it was aid there was not a corner of the world that he had not sought out. Now those days far gone, the old man was sedentary, living his days mainly in this single chamber often with his eyes reading over an ancient tome.

This night was different for Marwyn. It had been different for the past week, instead of studying old scrolls his gaze had rested on the artifact in the corner of his chamber. To a normal persons gaze it was a three foot tall stand holding a large ball the size of a huge summer melon piece of crystal. But, to the studied mind it was a treasure from the ancient world known as the Eye of the Forest.

The Eye was actually carved from the oldest of the weirwood trees of the far north beyond the wall. The wood was littered in carved runes of a tongue that was forgotten when Valyria was a young power to the world. The ball of crystal was actually ice formed from the mouth of a frozen worm of the north was used to bore through the glaciers for food. It was said to reflect the level of magical power in the world. The brighter the light cast from it the more power of magic flowed through Westeros and the world beyond. It was written in scriptures that the Eye once glowed like a beacon when the dragons were still active in the world. At the destruction of Valyria it burned so brightly for a month that the sun never set where it rested. Now though it lay almost a forgotten relic of times long past for the splendor of it's glow had died to a to the light of a match.

It had been written to have passed from the Children of the Forest as a gift to the First men, and on to House Stark. The Starks had gifted it to the Maesters of Oldtown at the time of the founding of the Citadel. It had over time been lost into storage before Marwyn had come across it as a youth. It had never in those entire years glow more than a match in light till a week ago.

A week ago it for two minutes it had burst into a beacon of burning light filling the room brighter than a dozen torches. Since then it had fallen to a flicker, but still brighter then it had once been. When before it was a match, now it was a candlelight flame, it was enough proof. Something had changed fundamentally in the world; something had breathed life into the world. The question was what or who had done it?

That was a question worth answering in his last decade of life. What was breathing the fire of life back into the world's magic?

Yronwood Keep, Dorne

Quentyn slowly awoke after almost two weeks of non-restful sleep. His eyes cracked open to only slivers as the light of the midnight sun seemed to burn his eyes with the fiery strength of a phoenix. At first the young man had no recollection of the room he was in or how he got there. But, then the memories started to come back.

He was in the middle of Yronwood keep. This was his room and his bed. When he first started to try to move a groan escaped the boy's lips from painful muscles resisting his will for use.

"You may wish to take a few minutes before trying to move." The voice seemed to settle over the room, yet the tone was not able to be forgotten to the boy. To the boy it sounded between a rumble and a whisper, yet every part of his attention was drawn to that voice. There was only one person in his memory that could speak with such a voice.

Despite the pain, Quentyn turned his head slowly towards the darkened corner where Oberyn Martell sat leaning back in a favorite padded chair holding a goblet of wine. Prince Oberyn Martell, known as the Red Viper, was his Uncle. The man was known for his work with the spear, quick wit, dangerous taste of venoms and large appetite for all types of women and drink.

Prince Oberyn had a lined face from long years of a hard life for a nobleman, most by choice. His thin eyebrow centered above his sharp nose and a pair of eyes dark as the blackest night. His hair was lustrous black with a touch of silver starting to show as it fell almost to his shoulders. A widow's peak centered the forehead of the man. He was muscular in a wiry build with a movement that screamed deadly. He truly was the viper of his namesake in the battlefield, for when he struck there was no obstacle that would not fall.

The boy tried to speak but his cracked lips wouldn't let him so he swallowed dryly before forcefully speaking, "Getting silver since I have seen your last Uncle."

"And you have changed to the point it is hard to recognize you nephew. I am sure my ash spear will teach you to mention my silver when we get back to Sunspear." The comment was snapped back at the boy. A frown passed for the briefest of moments through the eyes of the man, "Then you can explain to your father and me what happened to you."

"What do you mean what happened?" A groan escaped his body as he started to shift towards sitting up. His muscles resisted but the boy slowly sat up fully and looked down. It was then that he noticed he was larger than before, still not a giant by any means but when before he was barely five foot now he was closer to five and a half. His body seemed to have grown overnight to his amazement. He opened his mouth to ask his uncle when all of a sudden he felt the memories.

The boy reached up to hold onto his head as he started to remember everything from his sleep. He remembered the passing of memories the power and strength that fill him. He remembered his name Quentyn Martell, but he also remembered his other name Harry Potter. The memories were there below the surface along with the powers of the strange boy that seemed a dream but was truly a part of him. A part of who he was now. He had done those things; he had faced dragons, trolls, Dark Wizards and old fools. He was not just Quentyn Martell but he was Harry Potter too. The question was what he could tell? Who could he tell that would not condemn him for a sin against the seven! Who would believe or care to listen even for what had happened to him? Will his family give him a chance, or will he be cast out for a creature of darkness?

While Quentyn started to question his life and it's direction Oberyn stood up and walked to a shelf. He slowly reached up and pulled down a metal mirror and held it out to the boy, "Look at your face Quentyn. You still have the same face yet your eyes are different. Not just in color either, those are the eyes that have seen death and felt it's sting. I know them well as I have lived with those eyes a long time. Think over what changes too place. Think them over for today you get strength and tomorrow we will ride towards Sunspear. Tomorrow night you will tell me all and I will listen and await judgment till the end. I feel this might have been a bit much to get out of sheltering here and come back to being my squire."

The Prince walked out of the room closing the door as the boy sat there staring still at the mirror and surprise. His eyes once dark black as coal now stood out glimmering with a emerald that seemed to glow in the light. The boy reached up and traced his fingertips along the scar on his forehead remembering where it came from. Who had given it to him, the same dark creature that had come back to life to end his other self's life! The mirror dropped from his fingertips and the boy reached for it trying to catch it before it fell onto the ground. Unconsciously his magic reached out and caught it before it clattered to the ground or his fingertips touched to the mirror.

Quentyn sat there in surprise his eyes locked onto the floating of the mirror just below his touch and above the ground. The memories were real, he was a wizard! The words echoed through his mind, _A thumpin good one too."_

It took two days for Quentyn to be ready to travel from Yronwood Keep. Prince Oberyn kept the boy separate from all others during that time, for his own safety. A part that was once Harry hated the separation as it felt too much like being kept back at the Dursley's home over summer for his own safety. Yet, the part that was Quentyn understood the less that knew fully of what took place the better. Plus the rational side of the Prince knew the fact, that if he did not impress upon his Uncle that he was truly the man's nephew despite the changes he would never reach Sunspear alive.

During the two days Quentyn settled into his confinement by reviewing memories of Quentyn and Harry's lives. It was tough to keep them separate as often they would blend together into one mess of memories. But, he was starting to piece by piece pull apart the important details. He especially thought over his Uncle and Father to figure out how he was going to deal with those situations.

The leaving was a simple affair, no music or joy. Quentyn was simply cloaked and hooded in new travel wear that had been created for him since his older clothing no longer properly fit him. Some leather armor had been found to keep him safe for the travel which he happily accepted. His meager possessions that he had with him at Lord Yronwood's keep were settled quickly in a travel bag which was quickly stuffed into his saddlebags.

His horse, Norvos, named after the city that his mother had traveled far away to live in when he was fostered was ready for him in the yard of the keep next to his uncles. He recognized the breed as Dornish stock, back on Earth it would have been an Arabian. A small smile came over his lips as he walked over to run his fingertips along the black mane of the raven black colored horse. She was a creature of beauty and elegance that flew through the wind fast as a nimbus through the clouds.

While Quentyn readied himself Prince Oberyn walked to the side away from his guards out of earshot. A forced smile was on the man's lips as he spoke, "I am certain that we both know how disastrous the situation could be if it were to spread that my nephew was involved in any rituals of unknown quality. Especially since they took place under your care."

Albus Yronwood was a stern and fierce man when called upon for battle and the gaze he was receiving at that moment were close enough to the first flung arrows. His back went straight as he met the gaze, "I am certain that it would be a terrible thing to have that take place. This is why it will not be whispered from those of my keep."

"Indeed." Prince Oberyn turned his gaze back towards the boy whispering to his horse. A touch of a frown entered the corners of his lips, "I will be taking him as a Squire from here on out. He will not be returning anytime soon. His condition is delicate."

Before the Bloodroyal could speak the Prince turned is gaze back onto the man and he saw no chance to argue. Normally it could be an insult to remove a Prince of the realm from the care of his fosterage. However he had allowed the endangerment and almost loss of life for the boy. Before he could protest Prince Oberyn continued, "I will state to all that it is for family reasons, not for failure of your House's part of course. It will be a trip around the Kingdoms to widen his horizon and sow his oats. Perhaps find his future bride. Of course, I am sure in time your son could join him if Quentyn is more comfortable in these changes."

While Lord Yronwood had hoped to make a match of the boy and his daughter in his heart he knew that possibility had ended the night she saw the Prince with those strange powers. Dark things, that part of him knew he wouldn't want in his grandchildren. Plus his daughter was a firm child of the seven, a proper raised girl that would web under the light of the Mother. There was still the younger boy that could be a match for his daughter, they were close to of age. A small smile crossed the man's lips, "I understand. Please give the Prince my best regards for his travels."

The Boneway, Dorne

They left the town quickly after a brief goodbye to Lord Yronwood and his family. From there they had gone towards Sunspear. It would be a three days ride to reach his father's City. Along the way they made small talk and it was a pleasant ride. When it started to get dark they found a grassy hill near to a stream to make camp.

The boy first took care of brush and rub down of the horses while camp was being set up. Quentyn was given to the task to start up a fire while Prince Oberyn got a bit of water from the stream and take a quick bath to wash off the road.

So there was the boy staring at the twigs and dried leaves he had gathered together. At first he tried to rub together a few sticks to spark a flame, but nothing seemed to come out of it. A bit of frustration started to settle in as his eyes narrowed at the fire pit. His emerald gaze, unknown to the boy, started to glow with their own inner fire as he stared with determination at the wood. Quentyn concentration was so in-depth that he never even felt the presence behind him. His strength of will was strong for the boy and he called on his core unknowingly through sheer determination. A spark and flicker arose from the leaves. Next a small bit of smoke grew from the flicker and the wood started burn before him in the newly created fire. A fire, the boy had been able to create with nothing but pure will and magic in full view of his audience.

Quentyn was proud of himself at the sight. He felt it was an accomplishment worthy of praise. He had just done wandless magic. Sure it was a small fire he called but it was a fire nonetheless. He was so happy about what he had done at first he didn't notice the cold feel of steel against his neck. The single edge of a dagger brushed against his neck causing the boy to freeze in place. He swallowed slowly and whispered, "I assume it is time to talk Uncle?"

The cold whisper came behind his ear, "That it is Quentyn. That it is."

Author Note: I am amazed at how many folks have read the chapter and decided to follow, favorite, and review. Thank you very much, I appreciate it immensely and I hope from the bottom of my heart that I will be able to give some entertainment to each of you. As always I apologize for my piss poor grammar, hopefully it is getting a bit better since my first story. Now onto the meat and bones of the author note, a lot of people asked me to change the story to instead make Harry a son of the Starks. While, I love the stark family (or at least Arya) I decided to go with Dorne because it gave far more freedom since they were not major players front and center till book three. I just felt it was a chance to introduce someone new and let them grow into a part of the world's tale. All of that said I would not mind writing a story with the child of R+L = H (and start as a baby) perhaps next after this one ends or else Shadow wraps up (still have around 200,000+ words to go there according to my plans). I want to say thank you again for the reviews and advice for the story. I really want to hear your thoughts good and bad for the story. The next chapter of SotWW is written just hoping for my beta to return to edit it so I can post it.

Recommendation story: Remaking Destiny by Lady Laran – It is a very fascinating idea for Harry Potter and it should be a very interesting story that looks to be extremely different then cannon.


	3. A campfire chat

The Desert Prince

Chapter 3 – My previous life sucked

By Jamnaz79

Beta: (TBD)

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Game of Thrones (Song of Fire and Ice) or anything associated with it. I can say that I would never be able to write a masterpiece like Mr. Martin does and I hope you forgive my horrible try. Then again I hope I don't do a chapter every 5 years like Mr. Martin too. But, the books are always worth the wait!**

_Quentyn was proud of himself at the sight. He felt it was an accomplishment worthy of praise. He had just done wandless magic. Sure it was a small fire he called but it was a fire nonetheless. He was so happy about what he had done at first he didn't notice the cold feel of steel against his neck. The single edge of a dagger brushed against his neck causing the boy to freeze in place. He swallowed slowly and whispered, "I assume it is time to talk Uncle?"_

_The cold whisper came behind his ear, "That it is Quentyn. That it is."_

~~~ DP ~~~

The steel at his throat felt cold as a desert night. Slowly the boy swallowed as he got up the courage to speak, "Can you remove the blade from my throat Uncle so we can talk? It will be a long explanation."

The gaze of Prince Oberyn was so sharp it could have cut diamonds. The blade was still pressed to the young man's flesh. Slowly the princes relax, or seemed to relax for him, which meant he was coiled as a rattlesnake about to strike. The steel was withdrawn and the butt of the spear settled into the sand. "I want the full truth."

Quentyn met the gaze of his Uncle then nodded slowly, "Very well. It will seem strange. I do not really believe it fully myself."

A slight smirk crossed the lips of the Red Viper as he noticed his nephew stalling just like he would when he was a young boy when he knew he was in trouble. His voice was gruff as he spoke, "Get on with it boy."

The emerald eyes of the young man flickered briefly with anger at being called a boy, but it disappeared in a flash, "Alright Uncle, you know of my little adventure out with Cletus including the fight that took place."

At the nod from the older man he continued, "Well the poison that I was infected with caused my death. It was only the servant of the Lord of the Light that saved me."

The boy wet his lips with his tongue before he continued, "I am ashamed to admit I was afraid to die. I made a deal with him that I would be allowed to come back. But, the price was that I would have to accept a part of me from elsewhere into myself."

The boy fell silent a moment trying to consider how to phrase his explanation, "In another world or place or time, I don't understand it fully. I was a different boy. I was still the same spirit just a different person. I was known as Harry of House Potter."

He twisted his lips into a frown as he considered his words carefully, "The world was so different from our own. So advanced in many ways and there were still numerous problems. I was raised with my uncle and aunt after my parents were murdered there. I actually went to a school where I learned numbers, letters, maps of the world, the sciences of Maesters might know. Then when I became old enough I found out I was different than normal people there. "

Quentyn scratched his chin trying to continue, "Harry learned that he was able to do magic. Like the stories of Valyria of old. He, I, we attended a school for magic to learn about our powers and try to become stronger. Must like a Maester learning his craft at the Citadel it was filled with young students men and women who yearned for knowledge and power."

A quick run of his fingers through his hair as he talked, "Despite this world being so different, there was wars and battles to be fought. But, these wizards and witches would fight them only rarely with swords but instead with pieces of wood to channel their power called wands. These warriors could do great works of power from sending balls of fire at their enemies to flying atop common brooms. Creatures that are only considered myths and legends in our world existed in their own. There was even dragons that my other self once was forced to fight. My other self was an orphan because of one of these wars. The war took so many live and somehow I stopped the leader of the other side as a child when he attacked me. I never figured out how."

"The way I was raised was terrible. I wouldn't even wish it upon a Lannister child. Beaten, whipped, burned, ut, starved or locked away in a small dark place were just a few of the amusements that his adopted family forced him to do from age two onwards. Still, I would say it hardened who he was, it caused him to grow a determination to always succeed." Quentyn fell silent to lower his emerald gaze down onto the flickering flames of the fire pit.

He reached out and broke a branch before tossing in to feed the flames. "When I was eleven I was summoned to a Castle in order to learn to use these magical arts. There I started to have numerous adventures, some too fantastic to believe. I fought a beast called a troll that stood fifteen feet tall and weighed the same as fought men just to save a girl. I saw horses all white that had horns on their head. They were being of pure light and warmth that seemed to bring peace to whomever was near them. There were giant snakes that could kill with a gaze into their eyes and spiders the size of a house the fed on human flesh."

The young Prince let out a chuckle at the disbelief written on the face of his Uncle, " I know it sounds like I am insane but it is true. It was a world that was filled with possibilities but life for my other self was a dark one. There was always danger and he was always at the center of the trouble. I fear trouble will fit itself attached to me here."

"He died fighting against the very same man that murdered his parents. The monster was able to return to life by his followers with dark blood magic. He… I fought him and we destroyed each other. My other self never had happiness never had a family and barely had friends worth note. But, he sacfifcied fo a world that had shown him neither love or caring and saved many lives. He would have been a worthy son of Dorne. He was unbowed, unbent, and unbroken." The young man cracked a smile at is Uncle; he noticed that the man seemed more relaxed then before during the tale. Perhaps it was too fanciful to be made up or perhaps he had gotten through to the man. It mattered not at the moment for if his Uncle wanted him dead he would be dead by now. The man was the most deadly man with a spear in the Seven Kingdoms.

"So that is it? You are some boy from another world that has taken over my nephew?" The man spoke in a harsh whisper, the normal laughter that filled the eyes of the Red Viper was gone. A sudden chill came over the air surrounding the fire.

The young prince slowly stood up and rolled his head around in a circle to crack his sore neck before meeting the dark gaze of his Uncle directly. He narrowed his eyes at the man, "No I am him and he is me. I have learned many things of his life. His abilities and heart are not a part of me. I am still your nephew, I am merely something more. Is it a gift or a curse? I do not know but I do know that I am Harry James Potter and I am Prince Quentyn Martrell. I am not certain there is a difference anymore. But, I do know that there is a darkness coming to us. War, death, and misery will plague the land and I will be in the middle of it. As the Starks say Winter of Coming Uncle and I will be one of the torches to try to hold it back from Dorne."

A twisted grin took over the young man's lips as he met his Uncle's gaze head on, "I do know one thing though Uncle, we will have Justice for my Aunt. With Fire and Blood the Lannisters will burn."

The words were like magic and the cold distance that had crept into his Uncle disappeared to be replaced by a smoldering fire that filled the man's eyes. That fire was so hot it might burn the Lord of the Light himself! Prince Oberyn seemed to live for the pleasures of the flesh, drink and battle to those that did not know him. But, in truth there was only one thing that he lived for and that was Justice for his family. He wanted to bring pain to those that had murdered his sister and her children. The Red Viper wanted to end the feeling of loss that had plagued his family for over a decade. It was a constant black hole that sucked in the happiness that had once surrounded his family.

These words from Quentyn were like a beacon of burning flames to a moth drawing the man's interest at the possibilities. It was something that had had hoped for and dreamt about since Elia was lost. He had a desire above all else to destroy Tywin Lannister and his spawn.

"This will only happen if you train me, and help me. Take me as your apprentice so we can travel the Kingdoms and prepare. The Darkness comes Uncle and we must remain Unbowed, Unbent, and Unbroken before it. I am still your blood and nephew but I can become something so much greater." The lips of Quentyn twisted into a warm smile as his emerald eyes seemed to burn from the light of the campfire.

The older Prince Calmed and studied the boy. Part of him always had a soft spot for his brother's son, he was a wild one willing to go off on a whim and get into mischief. He was never afraid or hesitant of risking everything for what he wanted. Perhaps a boy he had been a bad influence of the child and instilled those traits instead of the caution that the boy's father relied on. Still now the boy hummed almost with a visible aura that promised power, strength, and will. The boy now had potential to become something unique and special. If he could keep the boy from becoming a prideful, arrogant prick then there was the potential there to mold him into something truly unique. Hell perhaps it could be a bit of fun along the way.

The though did cross the mind of the older prince if the boy was not truly what he claimed, if he was not still his nephew he could always kill him in his sleep. There would be time to sort this out in the future if necessary.

"Very well, but I want your oath that you are still and always will be a part of the Martell family. You will protect your kin and not turn you back on them no matter what." The oath requested was the same that he required of his Sand children. All of his bastard daughters would be required to take the oath and be reminded always of where their loyalties lie first and foremost. Oberyn kept a dark stare on the boy expecting obedience in this request.

Quentyn gave a crisp no to his uncle then raised his right hand upwards, "I, Quentyn Martell, also known as Harry Potter swear on my life and magic that I am a member of the Martell family now and forever. I will always honor the traditions of my people and protect our family. So mote it be."

The boy's hand glowed brightly as power seemed to leach out of his skin surrounding his upraised palm. The light bundled together till it formed a floating ball of fire which lit up the area. "Is that acceptable Uncle?"

"Yes Quentyn that will be acceptable. Please get rid of it." A slight shiver went up the spine of the older man at the sight of his nephew holding a ball of magical flame. Despite his openness that type of power did cause even him to have a bit of fear in the dark corners of his mind. The boy seemed to be sweating from the exertion required to call up the flame. Still he calmly tossed the ball into a nearby tree which went up in a flash turning into a smoldering ruin in seconds, "Bloody Hell Quentyn, no doing that again!"

The boy settled down onto his knees almost collapsing. He let out a sight of frustration before he wiped his brow, "I need to practice to get stronger it takes everything from me to do something like that."

"Perhaps you need one of those sticks that you spoke about to control it?" Oberyn posed the quick question.

The exhausted boy nodded one his head once, "Perhaps, but I don't know how to make one. I will need to find somewhere with stores of knowledge and perhaps it can be done someday."

"Yes perhaps someday." The older man glanced at the tree that seemed to burn far hotter and stronger than any forest fire he had never seen then shook his head.

The boy searched through his pack and pulled out a skin of water taking a long drink of it before offering it to his uncle. "What will we do about my father?"

A shake of the head to turn down the water was given as Oberyn settled down before the campfire. He rested his spear across his lap and leaned forward against the length of the deadly weapon. "I will deal with him. He is still a devote follower of the Seven so I do not believe your explanation will sit well with him. Instead I will let him know what he needs to know."

"You are going to lie to him?" The boy raised an eyebrow in question.

"I do not lie to my brother. I merely will let him know the important information such as you are alive and there is a change to your appearance from an accident. An event took place that almost caused you to die but you are fine now. Finally, we will be going on a training trip together to get you ready for your duties someday." The words of the man started off fierce and defensive then calmed as he continued to speak with his nephew. "It will be true because we shall be leaving Dorne. It is time for you to get your feet wet in the Seven Kingdoms. You are going to need to know more than just Dorne if someday you will become her spear. The first rule is to know thy enemy whether that the geography, politics or even who is fucking who for each of the nobility in the Seven."

"Why would I need to know these things Uncle my sister is to rule Dorne?" Quentyn leaned back as his fingers dug into the grass as he posed the question. He quickly added, "Not that I do not want to travel and learn."

"You are correct. Your sister is expected to rule Dorne after your father. But, one never knows when things might change nephew. Plus consider this. While your father rules Dorne, I am his political voice outside of Dorne. What other Kingdoms see is my face when they think of Dorne." Oberyn spoke as he cracked his knuckles one at a time before picking up a stick to push around the coals of the fire.

"A scary face it is." The quip caused the lips of Quentyn to turn into a smile at his Uncle's expense but that was wiped off of his face as he ducked a rock heading at his head.

"Be serious Pup." The older man tossed the stick into the fire, missing the shiver that seemed to run up the spine of the boy from the nickname. "It is important that I present a sight that will scare the other Kingdoms. Dorne should always be considered with more than a bit of fear for the others. It is our best weapon, the image of fear. We are not the largest which would be the North, not the richest like the West, our people do not number anywhere close to Highgarden or the Riverlands and we do not have mountains to protect us. We are the men and women of Nymeria, we prosper in the bitter heat of the desert, and we cling to life where nobody dares to dwell. When the summer comes others would bake alive while we survive and succeed. We are tested, tried, and proven successful. We are deadly as the red viper and strike swiftly; our wounds will be infected by our venom which will fester in our enemies till their death. That is why my face is so deadly Quentyn. I represent Dorne and I will do so by causing our enemies to see what each of them fears most. Their imagination will keep them away and my people safe. So shall you."

The boy sated at his Uncle speechless. He knew his people's past; he knew their determination and drive to survive in this harsh climate. It was said that the men of Dorne were trained in the hells of the desert because there would be nothing left to fear, not even death. His thoughts were interrupted when a light grey desert wrap was tossed to him. The boy caught it and looked it over before glancing back up at his uncle in surprise, "What is this for?"

"The wrap is a gift for the start of our travels. It will help keep your head clear from the sun and hide your identity as we travel. You can pin up the cover on your face when you fight your enemies till they can only see your eyes. They will not see you speak; they will only hear and know what your eyes tell them. A man's eyes can cause fear in another if they are not prepared for what they will find. With this and training, I will make our enemies only see determination and death." Oberyn fixed a few blankets into a pair of pillow before leaning back to settle in for the night.

"I will give it a try then Uncle. But, if we are to travel far away what will happen to your paramour and daughters?" the boy spoke with a bit of concern as from the memories of Quentyn he had a soft spot for a few of his cousins. His eyes glanced back down at the cotton wrap as he let the question hang there. His fingertips brushed over the wrap it was well-made and un-yielding when tugged. His Uncle might be right for his enemies, even better perhaps a bit of suspense for the ladies. Hell, who would know better than his Uncle who had supposedly fought with and bedded half of the women of Dorne?

The older Prince rested his eyes as a slight smile crossed his lips, "Who said my paramour wouldn't visit often? After all absence makes the cock grow harder."

**Author Note: Sorry it took a while in writing this chapter. I had a lot of problems where I wanted to take the work. But, that should be solved with the help of Joe Lawyer's suggestions and my own outline I have a plan. It is a shorter chapter than I would have liked but I expect the next few will be back to 5k or more like most chapters of Shadow. There is a new chapter of shadow that is being Beta'd at the moment so I figured I would put this out. Please let me know if you like, hate it or any of your thoughts. I always welcome them. **


	4. The Start of a Journey

The Desert Prince

Chapter 3 – My previous life sucked

By Jamnaz79

Beta: Looking for a Beta

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Game of Thrones (Song of Fire and Ice) or anything associated with it. I can say that I would never be able to write a masterpiece like Mr. Martin does and I hope you forgive my horrible try. Then again I hope I don't do a chapter every 5 years like Mr. Martin too. But, the books are always worth the wait!**

"_I will give it a try then Uncle. But, if we are to travel far away what will happen to your paramour and daughters?" the boy spoke with a bit of concern as from the memories of Quentyn he had a soft spot for a few of his cousins. His eyes glanced back down at the cotton wrap as he let the question hang there. His fingertips brushed over the wrap it was well-made and un-yielding when tugged. His Uncle might be right for his enemies, even better perhaps a bit of suspense for the ladies. Hell, who would know better than his Uncle who had supposedly fought with and bedded half of the women of Dorne?_

_The older Prince rested his eyes as a slight smile crossed his lips, "Who said my paramour wouldn't visit often? After all absence makes the cock grow harder."_

~~~ DP ~~~

Quentyn reclined into the hair on the balcony of the inn overlooking the city of Sunspear. The inn was on the western side of the city. While Sunspear would have been considered a small city compared to the Free Cities and a few blocks of populace compared to downtown London it was a city for Dorne. Despite the small size this was home for Quentyn for his early years. His life consisted of time spent here or within the Water Gardens three leagues to the south.

The capital was famous for the triple gate required to enter the city. Sunspear was a located on a peninsula with shoreline on three sides letting a small portion of deep sea docks to the south. To the Northwest a five story tall triple wall wrapped around the city except for the single gate. The walls contained a killing field of around a football pitch between each subsection. The walls were so high that siege engines within the Seven Kingdoms would never breach it. Truthfully there was little that could break the walls of Dorne; in fact it had not fallen even to the might of the Targaryens.

The eyes of the young man wandered from the magnificent walls to the Spear Tower. It was a massive building of stone that rose above the surrounding structures like a London Skyscraper. While it might not reach the clouds like the buildings of his memories it stood fifteen stories into the air before coming to a point. A slight smirk crossed the boy's face as it looked like a giant penis, perhaps one of his ancestors was trying to compensate for something. It was created to house highborn prisoners during times of war, but normally it instead was used to keep the regiment of soldiers at ready for service in the lower levels.

He turned next his gaze upon the Tower of the Sun, while not as large in height this building was the seat of power in Dorne. It was in the middle of the Palace and wrapped in pieces of gold built into the rooftop. Even in the depths of the darkest night the lights of the stars would reflect off of the roof shining brightly to the surroundings. It was said as long as the Tower of the Sun shone on Dorne House Martell would never fail her people.

He knew from memories that the floors of the building were crafted from pale marble imported from far off. The windows had colored glass pictures depicting the voyage and travels of Nymeria. There was exotic artwork and paintings filling all of the halls of the wonderful building. It was to be the building that his sister would someday rule Dorne, and perhaps he would e able to give her support to change the world.

The city reminded him of a city in the history books from the middle ages. There were sections of cobblestone and extreme wealth, but there were also sections that were barely better than clay hobbles. There were areas of the city where exotic fruits and vegetables were enjoyed nightly with rare pieces of fresh meat. There was also a section of the city where feces was thrown into the streets and children wondered where their next meal came from. The sight of these people as he came to this inn this day had put him in this deep melancholy mood. These were his people! They were who he would protect from foreign enemies. But, what about protecting them from disease and a quality of life that was little better than a third world country? Then again was Dorne a third world country? Sure he could put on a stiff upper lip and just go his own way to resolve his problems, or he could make an impact and change things. Perhaps it was his English sensibilities from his other life but he saw so many ways that he could help improve these peoples' lives. In the back of his head Hermione's voice, even if he could barely place her face and name, kept lecturing him to create a list to get to work.

But, where could he start to make changes? Also should he just rush in and make changes to make them? It seemed that whenever in his past life he would jump to conclusions it would backfire on him and his friends. There was that group of his friend SPEW, it was a perfect example that they wanted to free the House Elves that were bound to serve Wizards. Little did they know that the House elves were bound because they lost a war to the Roman wizards. They had all been minor demons known as Imps that had been summoned by the Egyptians long ago to keep their slaves in check. Ironic that their fate had become the slaves themselves bound in service for centuries. It seemed after some research that if they were fully released from their contracts that they could once again become a terror on the world at large. It was a good warning for here. Slow, small changes at first would be what are needed. The million pound question is where to start?

He closed his eyes as he felt the night breeze brush against his cheek softly. A slight smile came over his lips from the cool air as the sea pulled the warmth from the hot land. The boy couldn't help but think back to when Harry was growing up with his "family" often locked alone in his cupboard. The boy spent days at a time in there with nothing to do but books that he would take from the library.

At first he hid the books but eventually his Aunt and Uncle found them. It was one of the few bright moments of his life when he was able to convince his Aunt and Uncle to let him keep the books if he did all of his chores. He remembered his uncle muttering about perhaps science and literature would get the weirdness out of him. Well it didn't in the long rule, since magic can't just be removed from someone. At least it cannot be removed without killing them. But, it did create a boy that would borrow books like a crack addict from the library. He was a boy that couldn't help but read to escape his horrible excuse for a world that he was subjected to day after day. While his aunt and uncle would never take him anywhere, and never gave him the chance to experience life he got to do it on his own with books. It gave him the chance to swim in the Mississippi with Tom Sawyer or Fly to Neverland with Peter Pan, a chance to learn how to cook better to save a beating.

It is partly why Harry became a good cook; it was also why he became so good at doing chores around the house. He read about gardening, proper ways to treat the soil, how to fix minor things like light fixtures or basic plumbing. The boy learned cooking techniques and what plants different spices came from. Not that his Aunt and Uncle ate anything fancy, basically you could have poured a gallon of grease onto a piece of spam and deep fried it and they would think it was fine dining. That said if he messed up a single time it was a belt to the back or a hand to the face from his Uncle. Harry learned quickly to succeed their expectations in any endeavor that was placed before him except when it was a contest with Dudley. This tradition continued as he grew older, except the tasks seemed to become harder each year. Harry learned whenever one of tools like the vacuum cleaner or lawn mower would break he would need to fix it himself instead of asking for another. It got to the point after his second year of schooling at Hogwarts that he was expected to change the oil of his Uncle's car and give it a tune-up. Harry had become the handyman, gardener, cook, and house elf for the Dursley family.

Looking over the city now that was filled with filth and disease while barely being out of the stone age of Technology he couldn't help but wonder if he could find ways to put that knowledge of his past to good use. Prince Oberyn had mentioned that they would be traveling to the Maesters first. There was a chance that they would find out more information about magic in this world there, if nothing else he could learn about what technologies there was in this world. Perhaps he could figure out ways to adapt them for the people of Dorne. Hopefully by the time he was old enough to take over for his Uncle's position he could design something for his people. Crop rotations, a steam engine, irrigation systems, aqueducts, the printing press, even indoor plumbing might all be things he could help his people gain someday. He just would need time to work on these ideas and books to research what he would have to work with.

A grin spread over the lips of the boy as he lifted up his glass of wine to sip from it. Yes indeed, he could change this world not just with his magic but with his brain as well. It would only take some planning and cunning to pull it off. Careful planning and study would be required to get everything in order. But, eventually he could drag this world out of the Dark Ages that it seemed to be in.

~~~ DP ~~~

Sweat poured down the back of the boy as he ducked under the butt of the spear that was whipped around at his head. This was followed closely by trying to move his head out of the way of the elbow that followed the spear only to be struck in the neck. Luckily he was able to roll away from the fight for a brief second to reorient himself.

That second and gasp of air was all he got before Oberyn was back attacking him in close combat. The man circled him like a hungry wolf pack looking to pick off the weakest sheep in the herd. The boy's knees and ankles were sore from the number of times he had been flipped onto his back or tripped to the ground. Quickly he shuffled his feet away from another vicious combo of a star of the spear followed by a side kick at his shin.

His uncle slammed into the ground in a crouch before him as he missed a kick. It was a perfect chance to strike back, an opening far too obvious to pass up. So Quentyn whipped his spear around over his head before thrusting with the blunt end of it at his Uncle's head. Unfortunately the man merely rolled his head to the side. This was immediately followed by the length of the spear lashing out to sweep his feet from him. For the seventh time in two hours the boy flipped from his feet as his legs were taken out onto his backside with a large "oomph." The cold blade of a dagger was pressed at the neck of the teenager with a harsh whisper, "Yield."

Quentyn forced his breathing to calm as he nodded his head once. He felt the removal of the dagger then a hand helped him up to his feet. "Yronwood didn't do horrid with his training of you."

The younger prince blinked at his Uncle for the slight praise. For the past few days they had setup camp next to a small stream and he had been drilled relentlessly on his spear work. Every single time he had been beaten badly, each time it was worse than the last. He spit out a bit of blood to the ground from a busted lip courtesy of a punch, "Not horrid? I have been beaten like a drum."

"Yet, you got up and continued after each time you were thrown down." The man shook his head at the anger of the boy, he turned away to carefully hide a smirk of amusement. It was always fun to bring out the anger of his nephew. "Well you did make a good sparring dummy. Someday you might land a strike on me."

Quentyn rolled his eyes and settled down to clean his spear. Not that the instruct of war had hit anything, but still he was instructed in the ways to make certain it was clean, sturdy, and ready for combat, "Someday"

Oberyn knelt down at the middle of the camp and started to build the layers of the fire pit up, "Yes someday. I will get you there. Just as Nymeria's fleet was not built in day neither will be your skills for sword, spear, and lance. Time and patience, learning and hard work will bring them out. Now go get some water to make dinner Quentyn."

The boy reached out and grabbed a pot to fill from the stream. Grumbling the whole way about hard work, planning and lectures from smug uncles he walked down towards the stream. What did his Uncle think he was some bloody Hufflepuff? The raven haired prince shook off his thoughts as he walked to the stream and knelt down to fill the pot. He was so bust with his grumbling that he never noticed the water snake slithering towards him. Nor did he hear the warning hissing of the serpent as it raised its head to ready to strike the intruder to its territory.

It was at the last second that the mind of the youth noticed the danger and looked up at the snake. By reflex he hissed back at the serpent, "_Stop!_"

The water moccasin looked at the teenager confused, never before had a human spoken the language of the serpent. It appeared uncertain what to do. Slowly it started to coil back into itself yet kept its yellowed eyed stare on the human. _"How do you sssspeak our tongue?"_

"_Where I come from I am a speaker, a parselmouth. I have always been able to speak your tongue, though it is a rare gift even where I come from." _The boy quickly hissed back in the tongue of the snakes. He kept his eyes locked onto the serpent. It had dark black scales that glistened from the water of the stream, not too large at only three feet in length and width was about a galleon in size. A smile touched the lips of the boy, "_I mean you no harm."_

"_What do you want from us? All humans bring harm to our kind." _The head of the serpent bounced lightly back and forth watching the young man.

"_Not I. I am merely passing through. I search to understand things, to uncover why I can do different things. I am different than most humans; I have a purpose from the Fire Lord. I am seeking to learn the ability to use my magic."_ Quentyn stopped and frowned a moment feeling rather silly talking to a snake of all things about this. What would a serpent know of gods and magic? He stood up slowly to not startle the creature with his filled pot. "_I leave you now serpent of the waters in peace. Good hunting."_

"_We will be watching you human. Let us see what you really are."_ The creature hissed after the boy was out of earshot. It watched the human walk off towards his campsite then continued to watch through the night in curiosity. Though it could not understand the words that the humans spoke in camp, it did hear the name of the boy, Quentyn. A name for the speaker, it would be remembered. When the dawn broke the humans were gone. The serpent slithered back to the waters of the stream and slowly started to spread the tale of the human to the rest of the land.

~~~ DP ~~~

The travel had been rough, every day they would start the day with hand to hand and weapons training. The princess would travel for hours till just before the darkness crept over the land then set up camp. A quick fire would be gotten, water pulled out for cooking and a rub down of the horses. Finally a quick meal before a lecture on strategy for warfare, geography, politics, women, life in general was taught to Quentyn. His uncle became more to the young man then just the relationship of a knight to a squire, he became a teacher. Granted he was a teacher that would cuff the side of his head in the next spar if he slacked off, but a teacher nonetheless.

Oberyn had been to each major city and famous castle in his travels around the Seven. While most assumed he was busy with his debauchery, that image was a useful front to him. It gave a chance to learn the inns and out of every castle he stayed at. Nobody questions a drunken Prince that is wandering the halls looking for the loo late at night. Nor did they make a big deal of getting lost since he was always a favored guest of their Lord. If he truly was a lush for meat and drink that he acted like at his age then he would be as large as King Robert by this time.

A second way that he would use to gather information was from his conquests. It was amazing how much talk between the sheets took place, and how much chambermaids knew all of the rumors and secret passages of the castle. It had the added bonus of being the most pleasurable information gathering secessions possible!

The result of these nightly escapades was that over time Oberyn was able to put together drawn maps of many of the keeps and cities of the seven kingdoms. These parchments would be shown to the boy or drawn out in dirty for Quentyn to learn, each normally punctuated with a story. It was at one of these secessions that Quentyn discovered something remarkable by accident.

They had arrived late that night from their travel; Oberyn had wanted to push to get closer to a water source. Their hurried movements for the last few weeks had placed them close to Blackmont. The plan would be to take a boat down the Torentine River to Starfell and the Summer Sea. From Starfell the princes would find a ship to carry them to Oldtown.

The horses had been rubbed down and the camp was set up, a fire was roaring with life when Quentyn was sent to fill up the pot for cooking. He was exhausted. The unrelenting schedule required by his Uncle was draining on the youth. Perhaps that is why the boot of the boy hit a rock as he walked back towards the camp causing him to stumble. Normally Quentyn's reflexes would have allowed him to catch himself but exhaustion took over as the pot of water fell and the boy followed. The pot landed hard on the ground splattering water and rolling to the side not soaking the fire. Unluckily Quentyn flew face first into the roaring blaze. In a last second impulse the boy raised his right arm to try to block the flames from his face. A scream started to boil up through his lungs but never came out as he realized something.

It was the strangest thing, he was face first in a fire yet he felt no heat! There was no sizzling smell, there was no pain. He could feel the warmth and it was pleasant actually to him. He pushed away from the hot coals falling back out of the fire onto his backside. His gaze lowered in shock to his arms; while they were pink as if sunburned and his hair was gone they were otherwise fine! He was untouched by the flames!

Quentyn looked up at the gasp from his Uncle; the man was standing before him having moved fast as a strike of lightning. The wide eyes and shock written on the face of the man was something he had never seen before. The boy cleared his throat, "Ops?"

Oberyn stepped closer and brushed his calloused fingertips across the cheeks and forehead of his nephew. The boy's eyes were glowing bright neon green seeming to burn with the energy of the flams. Wherever the man touched the boy's skin was smooth and unblemished instead of scarred. Soot fell away to show perfectly tanned skin that his nephew always had. The hair on the head of Quentyn that had been burnt grew back before the man's very eyes. His nephew besides a bit of dirt and looked like nothing had happened. He swallowed slowly unsure what to do as nothing in his life experience had prepared him for this. "How do you feel?"

"I feel great." The boy smiled at his Uncle, his eyes flashed in the campfire light. He flexed his arms back and forth with surprise as his muscles which moments before felt weary now seemed perfectly fine. There was no pain or lethargy from the week of new training; it was as if his soreness and muscles had healed themselves! He flashed another smile at his Uncle, "I feel like I could run ten leagues. It is almost as if I took strength from the flames!"

Quentyn considered that idea. Did he take strength from the fire? It didn't burn him and when he touched it he now felt better, stronger. Hell he had a full stomach it felt like he had eaten the best meal in the world. The impulsive Gryffindor knew what he would need to do to test this theory. Before his Uncle could stop him he reached out with his right hand towards the fire pit. As his fingertips touched the dancing flames he could feel the energy and strength within them. He could feel the power inside of him, his magical core pulling at that energy from the fire to strengthen itself.

The fire started to dim from his touch, its strength dying. Unknown to Quentyn his eyes started to shimmer in the neon green once again. This time it was lighting up the face of the bow with a large glow reflecting off of them. Even from where he knelt Oberyn could feel the heat coming off of the boy and see the smoke start to smolder off his shoulders, "Quentyn you are burning up. You need to pull your hands out of the fire."

The young man blinked and looked up at Oberyn in surprise. He had forgotten his uncle in his study of the flames. The yearning, hungry desire that had crept into his mind for the fire and the power there was intoxicating. He pulled back his hand from the flames and felt the loss of the power immediately.

Quentyn closed his eyes and slowed his breathing with deep breaths. He felt the power of the fire that he had leached still filling his veins. It was almost too much for him to contain and control. He slowly held up his right hand just removed from the fire and concentrated on it with all of his will poured into it. A small ball of flame started to appear floating over the hand of the boy. Quentyn could feel the strength stolen from the blaze leaving him and flowing into his hand filling up the burning fire. The flames started to grow stronger by the second the energy was forced back into the flame. At first it was a spark, then a blaze the size of his hand, after half a minute it was as large as the fire pit's blaze had been and the boy kept pouring energy into the fire. He kept concentrating his will and magic into the flame. He never noticed his Uncle stumbling away from him as the roar of the fire was all that was important to his eyes. Finally he stopped willing energy into the fire and opened his emerald gaze. Floating above his hand was a bonfire sized fireball four foot in diameter, simply there awaiting his command.

A surprise gasp escaped his lips at the massive size of what he had created. He wasn't sure what would happen if he released it or allowed his will over controlling it to slacken. He ground his teeth together as he concentrated trying to pull his strength back into himself. Unfortunately this seemed to be far more difficult, after a minute there was barely an effect on the side of the blaze. Quentyn let out a deep breath and looked around trying to find somewhere to get rid of the blaze, he could not control it forever and he didn't want to see what would happen when he lost control. The land around them was dry, far too dry to toss it into the grasses. They may ignite and who knows what might happen if that took place. The fire pit was out as it was far too small. Instead he ran towards the pond using all of his strength and will to hold onto the control of the fireball. As soon as he saw the small pond he pushed his hand forward releasing the blaze towards the waters. The impact was a surprise for the boy.

He remembered letting go of the fire, willing it towards the small pond. He remembered watching it descent towards the cool surface of the waters at night. The memory was there for the fire striking the water and causing a well of steam to rise up. What he didn't remember was the explosion that took place that sent him flying onto his backside.

~~~ DP ~~~

The next day he awoke with a groan as water was poured over his head. The first vision to come to him was his Uncle's face he knelt over his student. "You overslept and missed your morning training. Since I am a nice Uncle you can run beside the horses instead of riding to make up for it during the first three hours of the day."

Quentyn could swear there was an evil in the eyes of the man as he stood up to walk away cackling. That laugh reminded him too much of a Bond movie villain for comfort. Still he shook it off and got ready for the a hard run through the plains towards Blackmont. A glance noticed that sun seemed to behiding behind some clouds at the moment, Quentyn sent a prayer for it to stay that way. He joined his Uncle, who had not mentioned last night at all, At the horses and readied for his morning running as he grimaced from a killer headache. It was going to be a long day.

~~~ DP ~~~~

The boy hung his head over the side of the riverboat and groaned. The ship was barely more than a barge as it rocked back and forth bobbing with the waves of the fast flowing river. While to any normal person it might seem like a leisurely pace and a relaxing voyage. To Quentyn it was hell on earth. The boy could feel every rocking movement, he heard every splash around him, and the agony went on for three days where he constantly lost his stomach.

The strange part was that Quentyn had been on ships before and never been sick. It must have been a trait he picked up from Harry, the boy had never been anywhere near water except the first night at Hogwarts. Looking back he did feel a bit queasy in his stomach and weak. That same weakness he felt in the second trial of the Tri-wizard tournament when he had to swim under the water, but he had chalked it up to part of the gillyweed. He couldn't help but wonder if he was sick from the barge or just gotten a bug. He was hoping for the latter.

When they touched the docks at Starfell it felt to as if the Lord of the Light had reached down and blessed him with a gift. He could feel the strength return to his body and the torment of the barge end for him. It was strange how it was almost instantaneous that he felt better after getting back onto land. The crew was definitely not unhappy to get rid of the boy. There had been more than a few messed left from him onboard. To put it simple, a sailor Quentyn would never make.

Starfell was a small town that was known for the accompanying massive castle located on an island in the middle of the Torentine River where it poured out into the Summer Sea. The town had a large port and managed some trade but mostly it was used for galleys and other warships protecting the Western side of Dorne. It was a military town ruled with an iron fist by the House of Dayne.

House Dayne of Starfell was one of the principle houses that backed House Martell. They were famous for their knights, every generation their greatest knight would wield the legendary sword named Dawn and be given the title of the Sword of the Morning. The greatsword was said to have been created by a fallen star. The list of strong knights from the family was impressive including Sir Ulrick Dayne from the time of Aemon the Dragonknight and Sir Arthur Dayne both considered some of the Greatest Knights of the realm during their times. The Dayne family had suffered during the rebellion as had most of Dorne as supporters of the Targaryens. Unfortunately this meant that where once there had been numerous offshoots to the family and there had been dozens of Daynes the family line now numbered in the single digits.

While Starfell was part of Dayne, Oberyn still wanted to keep the appearance of Quentyn quiet till they were certain that there would be no changes. So the boy was rushed from the barge through the town onto a massive warship with the House Martell flag. The advantage of being a Prince means you can commandeer the ship at any time for your needs. The downside to Quentyn was that he barely got his land legs back before he was condemned back to the torture of the high seas.

This time instead of a three days trip down the Torentine, it was a three week voyage to Oldtown. The boy learned quickly, it was not a bug. It was him; he seemed to have some weakness associated with large bodies of water. It made sense with his close connection to fire, perhaps that meant that water was his counter, his weakness. It was a curse that made the boy realize two things. First, this would be the last voyage he ever took if he could help it! Second, he really hated ships. It was with these concerns and being given a steady diet of books to read to keep his mind off of his weakness and sickness that Quentyn spent the trip to Citadel.

**Author Note: Thank you all for reading the chapter, I am sorry if it is a bit rough. I am still looking for a Beta for this story if someone wants to help fix my horrible excuse for grammar. I expect next chapter will have a time skip for a year or two which will put them closer to start of the Game of Thrones books. There will be some interaction with the main storyline of the books but I am expecting them to be more in the background for now. Please feel free to give any assistance and suggestions. I always welcome reviews and pms. Thank you for reading again.**


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